


In my Bones

by blakefancier



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-19
Updated: 2011-07-19
Packaged: 2017-10-21 13:08:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/225538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blakefancier/pseuds/blakefancier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blake stared at the children with their pale faces and their pristine white smocks (and their eyes, he remembered their eyes, they were the same eyes he remembered) and does his best to keep from being sick all over the floor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In my Bones

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to "Not a Mission Statement." This is not a fun story: Mentions of suicide, institutionalized homophobia, and the emotional abuse of children.

Blake stared at the children with their pale faces and their pristine white smocks (and their eyes, he remembered their eyes, they were the same eyes he remembered) and does his best to keep from being sick all over the floor.

"What is this place?" Cally whispered.

He opened his mouth, but it was Vila who spoke, "It's a re-education center."

Blake laughed, it sounded broken. "Alphas don't put their children in re-education centers, Vila. They get sent to facilities and institutions."

"They're so young."

Not anymore, he almost said. Instead, he walked over to the smallest child, a boy. "Why are you here?"

He knew the answer. He knew, he knew, but he had to hear it.

The boy's voice was just a whisper. "Deviancy, sir."

"I see." He did, oh, and he didn't want to. He wanted to pretend not to understand, to be shocked and appalled. He curled his hands into fists and fought the urge to scream. If he started, he might not stop. He might scream until the universe shattered. Oh, that sounded good. Destroying would be so good right now.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He relaxed his fingers. He stared into the broken eyes of that little boy and made a decision.

“Vila,” he said, his voice steady and low, “we’re going to need more teleport bracelets.”

“Right. I’ll be back in two shakes.”

There was something in Vila’s voice—No, no, he couldn’t deal with that. Later, it would have to be later.

"What are you thinking?" Cally touched him and he clenched his teeth so hard that his jaw ached.

Blake shook his head because he was thinking too much and if he spoke, he might eviscerate her. And he didn't... he couldn't....

He looked at the children again, the way they huddled close to one another without touching. That was rule number one in places like these: you didn't touch, you never touched Touching was painful and shameful and wrong.

He turned to Cally and he touched her arm, gently, with his fingertips. “They can’t stay here.”

And Blake couldn’t leave this place standing. There was a sense of dis-ease in his bones when he stood here, when he glanced at the white walls and the white floor and breathed in the sterile air. He rubbed his palms on his trousers and for a second he was ten and everything was bigger and the sound of the doctor’s voice made his pulse pound in his throat and he struggled to keep from putting his thumb in his mouth.

 _Roj thought, his eyes wet with tears, I want my mum and da. I want to go home. I want my mum and da._

Blake blinked and his breath was harsh in his ears and Vila was handing out teleport bracelets, but he still felt small.

“Come with me, Cally.”

They still needed to interrogate the staff

*****

There was collateral damage and then there was murder. He knew what he was doing, but if anyone deserved it, they did. They knew the statistics; they lied about them every day.

Blake pressed the weapon against the doctor’s forehead and felt a thrill run up his spine as the man stammered and tripped over his words. He never felt it before, the thrill, and he hated it. Killing shouldn’t feel good. It should never feel good.

He counted that amongst their sins.

“Stop talking,” he ground out. His throat hurt, as if he had been screaming for hours, and his hand ached from clenching the handle of the blaster. “Stop or I’ll make you stop.”

The doctor’s mouth shut with a snap.

“Blake, we need to go.”

He nodded and pulled the trigger; color sprayed across the floor and on the wall. A few of the med-techs began to cry and Cally gasped.

*****

He didn’t get to see the facility explode, but knowing it did gave him a deep sense of satisfaction.

*****

Blake sat on the floor of Engineering Room 3, his back against one of the computers. Machines hummed around him and if he closed his eyes and concentrated, he could feel the hum against his skin, warm and comforting.

He knew that he should be with the others. He knew that he should wash the blood from his skin and change his shirt. But it was quiet here, he was quiet. Blake closed his eyes and hummed softly. The door made a soft hissing sound when it opened and he wondered who it would be. Not Avon. Nor Jenna.

He smiled and said softly, “Vila.”

“Yeah?”

He opened his eyes and Vila stood there, tense, as if ready to bolt at the first harsh word. “Is there something wrong?”

“No.” Vila held up a bottle of brandy, then sat across from him on the floor. “Just thought you could use a drink.”

He held out his hand and Vila gave it over, grimacing slightly at the dried blood splatter on Blake’s arm. He drank deeply, the alcohol was sweet and burned going down, then he passed it back.

They sat like that until they finished the bottle. Blake’s mouth felt sticky and his head swarm. He sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “How old were you?”

A minute passed, then two, he thought Vila might not answer. Then there was a soft intake of breath.

“I was fifteen the first time. Got caught with my hand in someone’s pocket. The sad thing about it? They only had five credits in their wallet. Worst week of my life.” Vila nudged Blake’s leg with his foot. “You?”

“Ten. I was ten. I was there for six months.”

“That’s a long time.”

“They have to use a little more delicacy at that age. Treatments are shorter when you’re older." Blake rubbed his eyes and looked at Vila: he was pale and he had shadows under his eyes. . “If they’re anything like—Well, they can’t be more pleasant.”

Vila looked down at his hands. “Yeah.”

“How are you holding up?”

“I’ll probably have nightmares.” Vila used that whinging tone that annoyed Avon so much, but Blake wasn’t fooled.

“Yes, me, too.”

*****

Blake cleaned up before going to the rec-room. They children were locked in, for their own safety. When he stepped into the room, he could see the fear, sharp and overwhelming, in their eyes. He watched them for a moment, watched them watching him. For once, he didn't know what he wanted to say.

Then one of the older children got to her feet-- she was just ten, maybe eleven. Blake’s chest ached. He didn’t know the girl’s name; he didn’t know any of their names. But he knew how many would commit suicide by their eighteenth birthdays. He knew how few would be happy, healthy adults.

The girl’s voice shook when she spoke. “We want our mums and dads.”

I know. I know you want to go home, he wanted to say, but they’ll hurt you. They’ll send you back, again and again, until you’re dead or broken. And when you are, they won’t understand their part in it. They’ll think it’s another defect.

“Are you comfortable?” he asked instead. “Is there anything you need?”

One of the other children burst into tears. No one comforted the child. He didn't comfort the child. The girl stared at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears, her body slumped with defeat.

He felt sick again.

Blake turned and fled, his vision blurry and his breath coming in sobs.

*****

"They can't stay here, Blake." Those were the first words out of Avon's mouth when Blake walked into the room.

He sat on the flight deck couch and gently bit the tip of his finger, his stomach clenching and his shoulders tensing. It was Jenna's watch; he wasn't sure why Avon and Cally were here instead. "I know."

"So what are we going to do with them? The longer they stay here, the more dangerous it is. For us!"

"They're asking for their parents." Cally's voice was soft, almost conciliatory.

"I know that, too." It would be so much easier if they weren't

"Blake…"

"Avon, I know!" He got to his feet, his hand clenched, his body vibrating with tension. "And as soon as I've made my decision, you'll know!"

"Well, won't that be a surprising change."

For one tantalizing moment, Blake pictured punching him in the mouth. He stared at him instead, stared until Avon looked away. He sat back down on the couch and forced himself to look relaxed. "Where's Jenna?"

“Jenna wasn’t feeling well, so she asked if I could take her watch,” Cally said. “How are you feeling, Blake?”

Drunk. Scraped raw. “Tired.” Blake rubbed the bridge of his nose and caught the look Cally and Avon exchanged. Something dark and cruel twisted in his belly and he stumbled to his feet before it escaped.

Avon stepped towards him and said his name.

Blake shook his head and mumbled a quick ‘good night’ before rushing out of the room.

He vomited up the brandy and spent the rest of the night sprawled on the floor of the washroom with the lights turned all the way up.

*****

When Roj was five years old, he confessed to his mum that he wanted to marry his best friend Poul. Three months later, tests confirmed his parents’ worst fears.

He remembered a lot of doctors and he remembered a lot of pills. Then he remembered his parents telling him he was going to a special school and he remembered being excited.

At eleven, he couldn’t even look at another boy without feeling as if he was going to break down into tears.

That was normal, they said. Blake remembered them saying that was normal.

*****

Blake couldn’t do it.

Every time he visited the children, they asked for their mums and dads, but he still couldn’t do it.

Instead, he called Sarkoff and made arrangements.

Three weeks later, they were on Lindor.

He was sure that he was going to break apart. He was sure that he would break into a billion pieces. He spoke with the social workers, telling them what he knew, stumbling over his words, until one of them, Jolee, he said, touched his hand.

“We’ll take care of them.”

He nodded, jerkily, and swallowed hard. “Just…Just tell them there’s nothing wrong with them. Tell them, they’re all right. Tell them, they’re normal.”

“We will, I promise, we will.”

Blake knew it wouldn’t be that easy. It might be too late for some of them, or maybe not. There were no statistics for this, no numbers he could recite. Of that, he was glad.

*****

Blake sat on the floor of Engineering Room 3. He didn’t look up when Vila came into the room and sat next to him. He didn’t say anything when Vila took his hand.

“It’s all right,” Vila whispered. “You’re all right. There’s nothing wrong with you, Blake. There never was.”

Blake closed his eyes against the sudden sting of tears and squeezed Vila’s hand.


End file.
